


knight with shining pistols

by MamshieHelp



Series: teddy bears and bullet shells [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Guns, M/M, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Minor Violence, POV Minor Character, Pakhan Victor Nikiforov, Russian Mafia, Viktor is ready to murder anyone who touches his bae, Yuuri is so softe in this, basically ur kidnapped and you and yuuri share a cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamshieHelp/pseuds/MamshieHelp
Summary: “T-They caught me.” He hisses, clutching onto his stomach. “I was so... so close.”But a smile graces his lips. Triumphant, and you’ve never been more confused in your life.“Did they do something to your head?” You almost growl, because seriously. “Why are you smiling?” His smile only widens.“Vitya’s coming for me.” He says softly, almost fondly, and there’s a certain twinkle in his eyes. Dangerous. “H-He knows where I am. He’s coming for me.”“I-Is he a family member? Your friend? Has he called the cops?” You ask, hopeful. “Who is he?”“My husband.” He says, and succumbs to unconsciousness.(Or: It's not everyday you share a cell with the Russian Pakhan's beloved.)





	knight with shining pistols

Snakes. Heights. Darkness. Death. The inevitable. The Police. Ghosts. Demons. Phobias.

 

These words inject a healthy dose of fear into the hearts of mundane, suburban people. People on your streets. White picket fenced people. Normal people.

 

Most people.

 

Others are different.

 

The Mafia. Pakhan. Nikiforov. Bratva. Crime. Business. Nikiforov. Death. Nikiforov. _Nikiforov. Nikiforov._

He’s like a flash of quicksilver in a world full of rust and grime, stunning blue eyes a beautiful splash of color amidst bespoke tuxedos as dark as night. His smile like a taste of sugar before the poison gets to you, and you die willingly, because you’ll believe you’re going to heaven when a face like that is your last sight in this mortal world. An _angel._

 

An angel.

 

How contrasting, especially since the Russian Prime Minister gulps at every mention of his name.

 

His gun is quick, the bullet in it quicker. Hands long and lean, fingers gripping around your throat like a mold. He commands the room with a tilt of his head, footsteps thundering down the hallways, echoing across corridors. His connections are global, with no part in the world not graced by his name in some way or another. His “business” interactions are held in the most luxurious of penthouses, in five star hotel rooms, where knowing maids scrub the blood off rugs as bills get slid into their pockets.

 

He’s been the Pakhan for nine years now, barely eighteen when the gun was slid to him by his incompetent father. The business was slowing, people are losing respect over their family name, and Viktor decides to take matters into his own hands. First, by shooting his father straight in the head.

 

(They say he has a heart shaped smile though, which makes even more people sexually frustrated over a murderer. A _hot_ murderer.)

 

So he’s untouchable, ethereal, _dangerous_. He carves his insignia into the skin of his enemies, sends them home to their wives and mothers bloody and bruised and losing all sense of humanity. Merciless. Ruthless. To him, death is merely a nap at the end of a grueling, torturous day. Unfortunately for others, he plans on extending that day for his enemies, one broken finger at a time.

 

(He doesn’t believe in weakness. Attachment, in his line of work, was dangerous and made him soft, like putty. They said _love_ was a weakness. It was, but if there was one thing that Viktor Nikiforov was good at, it was embracing his weakness and kissing him passionately amidst guns and smoke)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You’re not alone now.

 

Imagine this: You work for the government. You know some top secret shit. Well... _some_ top secret shit. Your coworkers have joked about this situation before, about the Mafia picking you up from the streets late at night and interrogating you. You laugh, wave it off, sip on your coffee. It’s funny. Life’s funny. Until the fucking Mafia _literally_ picks you up from the streets late at night and interrogates you. Your bones shake, toenails stinging in anticipation. You’ve watched those movies, where people break fingers, peel nails off _one by one_ , and you hug your knees closer to your chest.

 

(You start to appreciate your nails a little bit more now.)

 

Sometime earlier, maybe minutes, hours, _days_ ago, they strapped you to a chair. Screamed, growled at you, something about a politician. You don’t know. It’s genuine, and you shake as they slap another punch across your face. They get tired, I guess, and they shove you in a rusty cell for the night. You’re thankful, at least, that they haven’t ripped your hair out.

 

So you cry and mope, pray even. How funny that you run to God in times like these, asking for release even when you forget about the omnipotent presence most of the time. It’s lonely and it’s cold, someone kicks a toaster strudel under the door, and you’re too afraid to eat it.

 

Eventually, they open the door and shove someone inside.

 

Skinny jeans, an oversized jumper and sneakers stumble in. The man grunts, pushing himself off the floor. The captors chortle at something about being too rough on his pretty face, and soon you see why.

 

He’s beautiful. even when he brushes the dirt off his knees and jumper. His narrow, fiery eyes hide behind a pair of glasses (they’re slightly scratched, you notice). He’s exotic, obviously asian. What was an asian beauty doing in the cold recesses of Russia, of _all places?_ He sighs as he runs a hand through tousled, soft hair. The lock of the door echoes throughout the room.

 

He slides down the wall, and he cocks his head when he notices your presence cowering in the corner. His plump lips are in a slight pout, as if questioning. ( _Adorable_ )

 

His eyes show no fear, just curiosity. This scares you, for some reason.

 

“Hello.” His Russian is perfect. “Why are you here?”

 

It takes some time to find your voice, like granite on sand, rusty and broken. Yet you find it, after some time.

 

“I-I... I was... I was just walking down the road and-“ You choke, the tears threatening to spill. “I didn't- I know _nothing_. They... _They..._ ”

 

“Are they asking for information or something?” He asks, blinking. His casual aura pushes more fear in his throat. You nod, and he tilts his head, brown eyes seeking and oh so beautiful.

 

“Y-You... You _believe_ me?” You’re tired, oh so tired, from the screaming and the pain and the growling from those tattooed men with guns. Tired, and oh so afraid. The man across from you is not, and you wonder for the nth time why he is here.

 

He nods once more. “My gut tells me, for some reason, that you don’t deserve to be here.”

 

“And you do?”

 

He smiles, it shocks you to your core.

 

“I’m Yuuri.” The smile is warm, unyielding. It gives you strength, even just a little bit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yuuri nice. Yuuri is kind. Yuuri is starting to freak you out a little bit.

 

Like the way he taps his foot on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest absentmindedly. His odd commentary about the jail cell is both amusing and terrifying. Something along the lines of ‘ _if they’re planning to keep us in here, in this rusty hole, they should’ve already shot us in the head already’_ sort of way. Earlier he perks up, fear in his eyes. You think the panic must have finally got to him, that the shock of being abducted subdued his fear, until “Oh no! I didn’t get to feed Makkachin yet.” escapes his mouth. It makes you want to scream.

 

“Why are you here?” Your voice is stable now, for some reason, maybe the odd man across the room was an anchor of some sort. Yuuri sighs.

 

“I was walking home from a nearby convenience store. Someone in a van drove by and _voila,_ here I am.”

 

“You didn’t do anything? No secrets? Anything?”

 

Yuuri shrugs, a knowing smile on his face. “They thought I look pretty and, I quote, my ass is ‘better than a bullet through your enemies’ head’.”

 

Your head is filled with horror, thoughts swirling full of possibilities for this man. Yet he is calm, and it scares you once more.

 

* * *

 

 

“I know this is an inappropriate question,” Yuuri says, shaking you awake from your slumber. You nearly weep, for you were almost done convincing yourself this was all a dream. He looks at you in the eye, determined, maybe a bit anxious. “But I need to ask you something.”

 

You rub the remaining traces of sleep off your eyes.

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

Of course not, not after what has happened for the past hours. But his grip on your shoulders are firm and sure, and you narrow your eyes at him.

 

“Listen.” He whispers, soft, voice carried through the stillness of the room. “I’m going to make an escape. I know this may seem unfair, but you can’t follow me out.”

 

Fear seizes you, and the hope you had for the past few seconds are diminished. He gives you a comforting look once your petrified expression settles on your face.

 

“It’s too dangerous. They might catch us both. But I know what to do in these situations, and if I were ever to be caught, the fallout goes on me. You’ll be spared.” He smiles. “If I do get out, I promise you with everything I have to get you out.”

 

“How?!” You sputter out. You’re afraid. So so afraid.

 

“I have... Connections. Well, my husband has. My point is, if I escape, you’ll be guaranteed freedom. I promise you, with my honor.” He purses his lips, you cans see hints of worry and maybe even fear at the corners of his chocolate brown eyes.

 

You still.

 

Minutes later, Yuuri exits the room, and the door locks with a loud _click_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nothing happens for the next few hours.

 

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid, so stupid_ to believe and trust a fucking weirdo who smiles and talks to you like you both weren’t kidnapped off the streets by some crime syndicate. _Stupid_ to not following him. _Stupid_ for trusting him.

 

You think you’re stupid, until the door opens.

 

They push Yuuri in, and he’s beaten, bloody, bruised, and lands face down on the harsh floor.

 

“It’s lucky we left most of your pretty face intact, boy.” One of the men snarl, smirking with pride. “Don’t get too complacent; boss’ll still have some fun with you when he returns.”

 

You rush over to Yuuri as soon as the door clicks locked, and the man groans as you prop him up against the wall. He grits his teeth, closes his eyes, the back of his head grates against the concrete wall. His jumper is destroyed, mangled and hanging onto his frame. There are burn marks up and down his legs, cuts and bruises on his arms, abdomen, and your heart lurches. His hands and feet are now bound, as opposed to the first time they were shoved in the cell. Guess they might have finally realized that Yuuri is actually dangerous and have immobilized him, while you’re still unbound.

 

“T-They caught me.” He hisses, clutching onto his stomach. “I was so... so close.”

 

But a smile graces his lips. Triumphant, and you’ve never been more confused in your life.

 

“Did they do something to your head?” You almost growl, because _seriously. “Why_ are you smiling?” His smile only widens.

 

“Vitya’s coming for me.” He says softly, almost fondly, and there’s a certain twinkle in his eyes. Dangerous. “H-He knows where I am. He’s coming for me.”

 

“I-Is he a family member? Your friend? Has he called the cops?” You ask, hopeful. “Who is he?”

 

“My husband.” He says, and succumbs to unconsciousness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He comes to, maybe half an hour later. You give him water to drink, courtesy of their captors, and he mumbles out a weak thank you.

 

“You’re married?” You ask, once you’ve settled back to your designated spot across the room. He smiles warmly, as if he wasn’t nearly beaten to death hours ago.

 

“If only I could show you my ring! It has half a snowflake on the inside, the other half is with my husband’s ring.” He says, almost excitedly. But pouts when he realizes that his hands are bound. (Once again, _adorable_ )

 

“It sounds beautiful.” You mutter out weakly.

 

“It is.” He says, eyes trailing the trail of moonlight filtering through the skimpy window on top. He sighs.

 

“I should’ve controlled my random craving for ramen.” He mutters absentmindedly, and you nearly laugh in hysterics.

 

Ah, this man.

 

 

* * *

 

 

An hour or so later, the moon is low on the horizon. The sound of a door being clicked open and the loud boisterous laughter from multiple men wake them both up.

 

“We got the FBI associate. Little bitch wouldn’t fess, though, I think the cunt doesn’t really know anythin’ valuable. We’ll work on it a little bit more before we kill ‘em.”

 

Someone hums noncommittally. He was dressed finely, with an aura that screamed _boss_. He takes on good look at you, and you shrink unconsciously in fear. Thankfully, his attention diverts to Yuuri. The man was stirring lightly, black hair falling over his eyes, obscuring his face.

 

“And who is this?”

 

“Oh, him? Me and Alexei were drivin’ around and then we saw this beauty walkin’ alone. We figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a ‘lil fun, eh boss? Whatcha think? It’d be great if we could have ‘im after you do, but you decide.”

 

The man smirks, walking closer to the limp man.

 

“Show me your face, boy, and let’s see if you’re worth my time.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t move. You start to fear, fear for your friend, because that is what you’ve always been good at. But you squint, look closely, and see a smile on his face, illuminated by moonlight.

 

The boss growls, takes Yuuri’s face in his hands and harshly pulls it up. “For fucks sake! Turn on the fucking lights!” He growls, and the room is bathed with a glow that made your eyes sting.

 

The room stills, its quiet.

 

You hear the boss let out one shaky breath, before letting go of Yuuri altogether.

 

“You...” He breathes out, you could see the white of his eyes at how wide his gaze was. Yuuri just looks slightly perturbed, as if someone has woke him up from his nap. The boss backs away, horror in his eyes.

 

“You’re... The Pakhan’s...”

 

Yuuri smiles. “Hi. You look familiar. Ivanovich, I presume? I saw you in one of Yakov’s get togethers. I never would’ve guessed this is how we’ll see each other again, considering how... courteous you were.” Yuuri’s voice is sweet, caramel, drip dripping onto the floor. The cuts on his body seem oddly aesthetically pleasing, and you wonder if you’re going insane.

 

Ivanovich lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his thinning brown hair. He glances at his henchmen, before promptly striding over punching one of them to the ground, fist shaking in anger and fear.

 

“YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!” Ivanovich all but booms, and his poor target looks at him incredulously from the floor.

 

“B-But boss... Why-“

 

“This man is the Pakhan’s _husband_. The Pakhan’s _FUCKING HUSBAND,_ you _fools_.” The people in the room all still, gasp, eyes widen with fear, Years of news articles come back at you, headlines. _Mafia. Pakhan. The Bratva. Nikiforov._ You glance at Yuuri, small and with a smile carved by angels, and you finally realize who ‘Vitya’ is.

 

Strangely, you don’t think differently of Yuuri. Not when he glances at you and sends an apologetic look your way.

 

Ivanovich analyzes the damage to Yuuri’s body, the bruises, scrapes, cuts. The damage was too obvious, too much, for it to be passed off with an apology and promises to never do it again.

 

They’re _fucked._

“We’re fucked.” Ivanovich breaths out, one of his henchmen blink in anticipation.

 

“Now, boss, this isn’t so bad-“

 

“We’re _fucked-_ “

 

Gunshots echo throughout the room, and you scream, cower, curl into a little ball. People are shouting, running in and out the room. There’s an endless ringing in your ear, deafening and deathly. You want to sleep again and never wake up, never wake up, never wake up.

 

You see Yuuri from across the room; he is sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest, lounging as if the gunshots were fireworks.

 

Eventually, it all stops, and you open your eyes.

 

Ivanovich is still in the room, but there’s someone else.

 

He’s tall, hair a flash of quicksilver amidst blood and granite. He’s dressed finely, designer turtleneck on his torso and Burberry coat on his shoulders. The gun in his hand is smoking, and, you think disturbingly, the smoke suits the silver of his hair.

 

“N-Nikiforov... Nikiforov I can explain-“

 

The man takes one look at Yuuri, who raises an eyebrow at him, and his blue eyes narrow as they take note of the damage on his body. He starts to walk towards his husband, pistol in his hand raising and pointing to Ivanovich without even _looking_ at him, and the man is starting to go on his knees.

 

“Please! Please I’m-“

 

You flinch at the gunshot, and the man falls to the floor.

 

You’re ready to collapse.

 

“ _Zolotse.”_ The Russian Mafia’s Pakhan all but croons, kneeling over to where Yuuri is, cradling his cheeks in his hands as if nothing else in the world mattered more. “ _Darling_ , I’m so sorry-“

 

“My knight in shining armor.” Yuuri mutters pointedly. Viktor pouts, taking out a switchblade and cutting the ropes around the man’s ankles and hands.

 

“I should’ve been here faster.” Viktor mutters, working at the ropes. He deflates at the state of Yuuri’s body, guilt and worry, alongside with anger, flooding in his eyes. He growls. “What on _earth_ did they do to you? Are you alright? Can you walk? Did they attempt to do anything-”

 

The minute Nikiforov frees Yuuri’s hands, the smaller man immediately wraps his hands around the others’ neck. Viktor takes caution with Yuuri’s abdomen, but he hugs back with more fervor.

 

“ _Zolotse,_ I love you. Fuck, I nearly had a heart attack.” Viktor murmurs, voice anything but the voice of a cold blooded murder. He plants a deep kiss on Yuuri's cracked lips. “Never do that again. _Please,_ never do that again.”

 

Yuuri smiles, swipes the bangs out of Viktor’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I love you too.” Taking out the bloody scenery, this would’ve made your heart melt.

 

You shuffle your feet away from the pool of blood growing from Ivanovich’s body a few feet away.

 

This causes the attention of the two men to whip towards you, and you still in fear.

 

“Who are you?” Viktor snaps, and you shrink in fear. Yuuri places a comforting hand on his husband’s shoulder.

 

“They’re a friend.” Yuuri says quietly, and he looks at you in the eye. “I promised you your freedom. Ivanovich’s enforcers abducted them. They’ve been nothing but helpful to me this whole time, Vitya.”

 

Viktor takes one good look at you, the blue of his eyes so terrifyingly intense, and you fear once more.

 

He sighs.

 

“Fine.” Viktor removes his coat, wraps it protectively around Yuuri. “Stick with me until I get you both out of this warehouse. There’s a gas station with a payphone nearby.” You take note of the gun in his hand, and you gulp when he raises it. “Speak nothing of what you’ve seen. When people ask, tell them about running away from some muggers in an alley and accidentally getting lost. One wrong word and I won’t hesitate to hunt you down and shoot you.”

 

You squeak, and comply.

 

There’s nothing you can do but comply.

 

Viktor hauls Yuuri up, much to the smaller man’s surprise.

 

“I can still walk, you know.”

 

“Oh shush.”

 

Later on, when you’ve maneuvered your way out of the warehouse, using the Mafia Pakhan as a fucking travel guide, you’re greeted with fresh air and a morning sunrise.

 

Viktor Nikiforov slides Yuuri into the passenger seat of some luxury car, and a few bloodied bodyguards enter a separate vehicle. The lot revs into life, and Yuuri waves goodbye as they drive off into the horizon.

 

You stare, and there’s no more fear in your heart.

**Author's Note:**

> idkkkkkk i had this in my head and now i can't take it out fdjkjukhhgfkbhsbvfjhdkj
> 
> feedback is greatly appreciated!


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